


Drones and Other Soaring Things

by malevolentmango



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Fluff, Humor, M/M, the shield is a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango
Summary: “It protects you,” Bucky says, staring at the table where the shield rested. “That used to be my job, but I failed. Least I can do is make sure the thing that does a better job than me looks nice.”





	Drones and Other Soaring Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeftHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/gifts).



> A birthday gift for [Lefty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand), who makes my life better on a daily basis and deserves more on their birthday than I could ever give.
> 
> Thank you to [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui), [Elaine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth), and [Ivoughrie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoughrie) for betaing this and for reassuring me that I did okay for a fandom that I'm still learning the ropes in.
> 
> This fic ignores the Civil War after-credits scene (for obvious reasons), but is otherwise canon compliant. Mostly.

The first time it happens, Steve blames Tony.

 

He does that sort of thing, sometimes. Gets so distracted with fixing things that he winds up fixing everything in the compound in one mad spree, even if it’s not technically broken. And after a particularly rough fight that left Natasha injured and Steve distracted with making sure she actually got some rest, he didn’t really have time to worry about the state of his shield.

 

He’s pretty sure it hadn’t been sparkling like it was brand new when he’d dropped it off in his room after the battle, though.

 

And if it had just happened the one time, he could write it off as one of Tony’s random bouts of spring cleaning. But it happens several more times after that, his shield reappearing after every battle with the scratches buffed out, the paint job fixed, polished to perfection, before he ever has a chance to do it himself.

 

It doesn’t take him very long to realize the pattern, and the fact that it started not long after he brought Bucky back here.

 

He eventually catches Bucky in the act, not that he’s trying very hard to hide. And it turns out it is Tony’s fault, to an extent: Bucky’s taken over a corner of the man’s workshop as his own, where he keeps tools for working on his arm and, apparently, on Steve’s shield.

 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Steve says by way of greeting.

 

Bucky glances up at him, his movements not pausing. He’s got the shield resting on his legs, propped up on a low table, and seems to be polishing it with a soft cloth. He looks back down at it, his long hair shielding his eyes from view.

 

“I do, though. Have to,” Bucky says gruffly.

 

Steve walks over to him, and he takes Bucky’s lack of reaction as a sign that it’s okay to drag another chair over and sit next to him as he works. Some days with Bucky are harder than others - some days he lashes out at Steve, some days he says nothing at all. But there’s not a single day where Steve doesn’t think he’s worth it.

 

Today’s a good day, he thinks, watching the way Bucky’s hand moves over the shield, relaxed but focused. The movements of someone who takes significant pride in what they do.

 

“Why’s it so important to you?”

 

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately. He flips the shield over, tugging on the straps to check their strength, before turning it back and giving it a once-over. Making sure it’s ready. Then he slings the shield in Steve’s direction, and he catches it as an afterthought, taking barely a moment to appreciate the way it gleams as brightly as it had the first day he got it before he levels a confused look at Bucky.

 

“It protects you,” Bucky says, staring at the table where the shield had rested. “That used to be my job, but I failed.”

 

“Buck…” Steve frowns. He starts to tell Bucky in no uncertain terms how wrong that is, but Bucky beats him to it.

 

“Least I can do is make sure the thing that does a better job than me looks nice.”

 

No amount of arguing on Steve’s part changes Bucky’s mind - and if there’s one thing that’s never changed between them, it’s how incredibly stubborn they both can be - and so the pattern continues. It’s nice in a way that Steve isn’t quite ready to confront fully, to have that kind of care put into his shield. Into him. It’s something that was missing in the years when Bucky was missing too.

 

But he doesn’t miss the way Bucky lingers in the background of mission briefings, the way he watches from the sidelines whenever the team prepares to leave. The frown on his face, the tension in his shoulders. As if, at the first sign that he was allowed to, he would be following Steve out the door with the rest of them.

 

Until the day he finally does.

 

~~~

 

It takes time, but eventually the routine becomes comfortable. More often than not, Steve will join Bucky while he works on the shield. Their talking becomes easier, a little more like old times, and Steve almost finds himself looking forward to the dents and scratches in his shield. Hearing Bucky laugh again is more than worth the struggle that caused them.

 

And maybe they were becoming _too_ comfortable with it, with the easy back and forth; maybe they’d spent too much time ignoring the reasons Bucky was doing it in the first place, or maybe Bucky was just on his way to getting better. It takes longer and longer for Bucky to get around to cleaning his shield between missions. Until finally, his time runs out.

 

There’s an attack in Boston - they get a scant few minutes to prepare for it, and in the chaos Steve doesn’t notice the fact that his shield still bears all the nicks and marks of their previous mission. A bit of chipped blue paint, right around the edges of the star.

 

He doesn’t spare a second thought to the state of his shield until Tony points it out, a teasing “Ran out of shield polish, Capsicle?” as he strolls by Steve to the ship’s cockpit.

 

Steve stares down at the slight imperfections, his heart sinking, and he hopes Bucky didn’t notice it as they were leaving.

 

He’s less surprised than he should be when the Winter Soldier shows up in Boston in the heat of the battle, murder and panic in his eyes in equal amounts, still wearing the hoodie he’d had on when they left. It’s been a long time since any of them saw what he’s truly capable of, too used to the Bucky they’ve slowly gotten to know since he moved into the compound. He strikes down anyone who so much as comes close to Steve, and at the end of it all there’s a clear path of destruction wherever they’d been.

 

They get him onto the ship before the majority of the reporters arrive on the scene, but a few blurry photos of him still show up online within the hour. By the time they’re safely back at the compound, there’s rampant speculation about whether or not the man seen aiding the Avengers was actually the Winter Soldier, where he came from and why he was there.

 

Steve knows this is something he should be concerned about. Knows that if the reports turn into anything more than speculation that it would mean even more trouble for them. But Bucky slipped out of sight almost as soon as the doors shut behind them, and Steve’s shield is missing.

 

He’s never been particularly good at choosing his battles, but he _has_ always been good at choosing Bucky’s.

 

Bucky is exactly where Steve expects him to be: in his corner of Tony’s workshop, with the shield propped up on his knees and the same low table. It looks awful - grime-stained and gouged, the star barely visible beneath the layers of dirt and blood. Bucky isn’t cleaning it. He’s just staring at it, like if he focuses on it hard enough it will solve all of his problems.

 

“We have to do something about this,” Steve says.

 

Bucky doesn’t look at him. “You really need to work on how you say hello to people.”

 

Steve snorts and pulls up a chair to sit beside him. He realizes, now that he’s closer, that Bucky’s hands are just as soiled as his shield.

 

“Buck…”

 

“I don’t have to stay here. I can make it on my own if I have to.”

 

Steve frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Bucky gestures in the direction of the main living area of the compound. “Figured they’d want me gone after that stunt.”

 

“I didn’t ask,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure out the press stuff if we have to. But you’re not going anywhere. That’s not the solution here.”

 

“It’d be easier.”

 

“Not for me.” Steve fixes him with a stern look. “And who cares if it’s easy? Since when have we ever done something just because it was the easier way? We can figure this out. We can help you, Buck.”

 

Bucky does look up at him then, a little bemused smile on his face. “You always do that.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Nothin’.” Bucky sighs. He finally picks up a rag and starts wiping the worst of the mess off the shield. “Dunno if it’s something that can be fixed, anyway.”

 

“We’ll be better about the shield then. Whatever helps…”

 

“Thing is, Stevie, I know you can take care of yourself. I _know_ it.” He taps a metal finger to his temple, as if to emphasize his point. “But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes it’s too far out of reach. And those are the times I hate being stuck here the most. ‘Cause I’d rather be out there with you.”

 

Steve’s lips quirk up in a small smile. He reaches up, slowly, and wipes away the smudge of dirt that Bucky left on the side of his face. His hand lingers there longer than it should, trails down over Bucky’s cheek before falling away. Bucky opens his mouth just slightly, as if it’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Steve to keep going.

 

“We’ll figure this out,” Steve says again. “We can get you...I dunno, a camera or something.”

 

~~~

 

They don’t get Bucky a camera.

 

It’s actually Sam’s idea, in the end, to set up a video feed from his drone for Bucky to watch back at the compound while they’re away on missions. When he’s not using it for other things, he sets the drone (“His name is Redwing,” Sam always insists. Everyone still just calls it “The drone.”) to follow Steve around. They also link him up to the comm system, so that he can call out when Steve has targets incoming.

 

This turns out to be a huge mistake.

 

“Is that a--I can’t see a fuckin’ thing! Hey, Wilson! Turn this thing around will ya?”

 

Sam is hovering upside down in midair fending off multiple attackers. He makes a vague, furious gesture in the direction of his own drone. “I’m a bit busy right now, Barnes!”

 

There’s a frustrated sound from the other side of the comm, followed by a few long moments of deafening silence.

 

“...Buck?”

 

“All under control, Stevie.”

 

Steve flings his shield at an enemy and glances upwards as he catches it on the return. The drone is now facing the direction Bucky requested, but Sam is still heavily engaged and not paying the drone any mind.

 

“Buck, did you hack Sam’s drone?”

 

The drone swoops down to Steve and does a flip in front of his face. Steve narrows his eyes at it.

 

“That’d be an awful thing to do,” Bucky says, sounding about two seconds away from bursting into laughter. “Probably.”

 

He sends the drone soaring back into the air, scanning the area around Steve more freely than before. Steve shakes his head and dives back into the fight. They'll get Sam his drone back at some point. Probably.

 

It's shockingly easy, how quickly he adapts to the drone after that. To having Bucky's voice in his ear and the near-silent buzz of the device moving through the air behind him. Working with the Avengers is one thing, and he’s no stranger to having a team at his back. But he hadn't realized how much he missed the feeling of glancing over his shoulder to find Bucky there, watching out for him, until he’s finally got it back. Even if it’s just an approximation of him.

 

Steve feels a bit less nostalgic about it the next time the drone is sent out, this time with a slim, matte black blade duct taped to the top of it, protruding out over the front end as if he intended to ram the entire thing straight into someone’s back.

 

“Bucky...no.”

 

“Bucky, _yes."_

 

“You can’t keep that.”

 

“What’s wrong with it?”

 

“Where do I even start?”

 

The sound of Bucky chuckling echoed through his earpiece. “So it mighta been a little rushed.”

 

“A _little?”_

 

Sam’s voice chimes in over the comm. “Did you stick a goddamn _knife_ to my drone?”

 

“No. It’s a dagger.”

 

Sam turns to Steve. The glare on his face indicates that there are several words he’d like to be saying at the moment.

 

“Buck, bring the drone here.”

 

Bucky sighs, and the drone floats over to him reluctantly, knocking into the back of Tony’s head as it goes. When it’s within reach, Steve carefully peels off the duct tape and slips the blade into his pocket.

 

“Oh yeah, because that’s _much_ safer,” Bucky mutters into his ear.

 

Steve returns the dagger to Bucky when they get back to the compound, after extracting a promise from him that he wouldn’t try to strap it to the drone again. He also told Bucky about the extremely disgruntled look Tony sent his way as he was heading down to the workshop with the blade in hand. He’ll never admit that when Bucky laughs, it feels like more of a victory than their successfully completed mission.

 

~~~

 

Steve feels less charitable about this later, when Bucky decides that if he can’t have a knife, he’s going to have a loudspeaker instead.

 

He’s not even sure where it is, exactly. It’s actually installed into the drone instead of hastily strapped to the side of it, and he’s pretty sure Sam had absolutely no say in this particular upgrade.

 

And sure, sometimes it’s helpful:

 

“Hey, asshole!” Bucky shouts from behind him, sounding tinny and far away when his voice is coming from the drone rather than his earpiece.

 

He turns to find an enemy that had been trying to sneak up on him, in the middle of spinning around to look for the source of Bucky’s voice. While he’s distracted, Steve flings his shield into the back of his head and sends him to the ground with a grunt of pain.

 

Steve glances up at the drone. He’s pretty sure he’s projecting the aura of smugness that it seems to be radiating, but he wouldn’t put it past Bucky to have installed something for that too.

 

“Nice tag team,” Bucky says. The drone zooms off in front of him, ruffling his hair as it goes, to scout the area ahead.

 

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

 

But sometimes, Steve really wishes he could rip the speaker out of it as easily he had the dagger.

 

“And that’s why,” Steve says to the reporter who catches him after a battle in Chicago, before the dust has even settled, “we will continue to fight. That’s what the Avengers have always stood for - helping those who can’t help themselves, defending them from the ones who would see all their hard work destroyed. That’s our purpose, that’s what we’re here for, and that’s not gonna change.”

 

The reporter shares a raised eyebrow with their cameraman, but before they can ask any more questions, there’s a loud round of applause from above them, interspersed with cheers and wolf whistles. As one, they all look up at the drone that hovers over Steve’s head. Steve glares at the camera and wishes he couldn’t hear the excited noise the reporter makes at the sight of it.

 

“Who’s controlling that drone, Captain?”

 

“An...associate.”

 

Bucky lets out an offended gasp over the speaker. Steve wonders how far he could throw the damn thing before Bucky would be able to revert course.

 

“Does this associate have a name?”

 

Steve tries not to look as uncomfortable as he feels. He can’t exactly say that the Winter Soldier is operating a drone that belongs to the Avengers, after all. This is a scenario they probably should have planned for.

 

“Their name is...Becky.”

 

The reporter squints at him, and he can feel the red flush spreading across his cheeks. They lean closer to him, going for an air of privacy that allows the mic to be even closer to his mouth. “Is Becky your girlfriend?”

 

_“No,”_ says Steve firmly.

 

“Yes,” says Bucky, adopting a piercing falsetto that makes Steve cringe and the cameraman grin.

 

That particular rumor lasts for nearly three months, and Bucky busts out laughing every time a new article gets posted about it online. When Steve complains that he’s getting all the public scrutiny of having a girlfriend with none of the benefits, Bucky says that he’d happily take Steve out on a date if only he could leave the compound.

 

Steve is sorely tempted to take him up on it, especially when Bucky blushes, looking a little stunned that he said that out loud.

 

~~~

 

Somewhere along the way, it becomes clear that Bucky’s drone just... _fits._

 

Sam has long since given up asking people to call it “Redwing,” much less trying to claim the device as his own. He’s stopped protesting all the new additions Bucky makes, the ones he spends hours on in his little corner of Tony’s workshop. That corner looks more like a battle station now - it’s where he directs the drone from, a setup with monitors for the video feeds and fine-tuned controls, scattered with precision tools and prototypes for new upgrades.

 

It’s one of those new upgrades that he’s testing in the field now: a stun gun that’s shockingly similar to the one Natasha wears on her wrist. She squints up at the drone the first time Bucky uses it and says something in Russian that Steve doesn’t understand, but which makes Bucky send the drone careening off in the opposite direction from her.

 

“Can I get a thermal scan of the upper floors?” Sam says into the comm as they approach the building from the back. “Intel says our target is up there somewhere.”

 

“Only if you say please,” Bucky says, but he’s already directing the drone upwards, scanning each floor. “Got three hostiles on the third floor, and another five on the fourth. Fifth and sixth are clear.”

 

Steve glances at Sam and Natasha, motioning to the door. “I’ll take the third, you two take the fourth. Buck, keep an eye on the streets, once we bust in they might send reinforcements.”

 

“You know, if you shoot out a few windows, I can stun them from here…”

 

“Buck.”

 

He can practically hear Bucky’s pout from here. “Yeah yeah, minimal property damage, whatever. Remember that when one of them kicks you through a window.”

 

“That was--”

 

_“Again.”_

 

“Maybe you should install some airbags next,” Natasha says, smirking. “Then you can catch your _Stevie_ before he hits the ground.”

 

There’s a pause on Bucky’s end as they approach the door. Then he says, “That’s not a bad idea…”

 

“Oh for--”

 

Steve doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Sam chooses that moment to breach the door, and he throws himself into the mission with the same intensity he always does. Bucky’s voice in his ear, far from being a distraction, keeps him focused. He calls out targets, let’s him know how Sam and Natasha are doing on the floor above, gives them a count on the hostiles swarming in from the streets for back up.

 

It’s quick, efficient, and...comforting. Having Bucky watching over him - over them - from the skies. Knowing that every day Bucky spends feeling useful, actually utilizing his skills to help instead of pretending he doesn’t have them, is a day that he gets better. It’s more than he ever dared to hope for.

 

And Bucky gets to stun five people as they try to head inside. It would’ve been more, he insists on the ride back to the compound, if he’d included more ammo for the test run. Steve is almost afraid to see what he’ll do with it when it’s fully loaded.

 

Steve goes down to the workshop later to find him. Bucky is hunched over the drone, running a cleaning cloth carefully along the underside of the wings, a bottle of polish on the desk next to him. When Steve gets closer, he discovers another new addition: a shining white star painted on the drone’s belly, its top point positioned just under the speaker.

 

He’s not sure how he could have missed it earlier. Perhaps he’s just gotten too used to not having to look up.

 

Bucky mutters a distracted “Hey, Stevie,” not taking his eyes off the drone. He cleans it just as meticulously as he always did Steve’s shield - buffing out the scratches, touching up the paint, polishing it until it gleams. Steve sits down next to him in the only other chair at Bucky’s workstation, the one that’s always reserved for him, and waits for him to finish up. He knows better than to interrupt.

 

Bucky hasn’t cleaned the shield in months. Although he does occasionally harangue Steve to do it himself, when he knows Steve has been neglecting it.

 

When Bucky finally flips the drone rightside up and sits back, satisfied, Steve says, “It’s nice, you know. Having you watching my back out there. Kinda like old times.”

 

Bucky laughs dismissively. “It doesn’t really do much. Especially since you vetoed my dagger.” Steve chuckles. “It’s not the same as being there. Not like the others are.”

 

Steve tilts his head, staring at Bucky intently, at the way his eyes flicker to the drone. There’s a quiet sort of pride there that belies his words. Steve thinks of the schematics he’s occasionally seen up on the screens when he comes down here, the ones that look nothing like the drone that used to belong to Sam. He wonders what’s holding Bucky back from making that prototype a reality, when Steve is entirely sure that he’s capable of doing it.

 

"Yeah, the others are great at what they do,” Steve says. “We're a team for a reason." Bucky looks down at his hands, one flesh, one metal. Steve slips his hand into Bucky's, lacing their fingers together. "But you're part of that team too. You belong here.”

 

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, before he finally meets Steve’s eyes. “This is the weirdest fucking club I’ve ever been in.”

 

Steve sputters out a laugh. “Jerk.”

 

“Punk,” Bucky replies, grinning, and it’s so familiar that Steve’s heart aches. He looks down at where their hands are joined. “You haven’t changed at all.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Still a stubborn asshole pickin’ fights with whoever looks at you the wrong way.” He runs his thumb across the back of Steve’s. “Still the best guy I’ve ever known.”

 

Steve observes Bucky’s profile in the dim light of the computer screens and wonders how it took the mask coming off for him to realize the Winter Soldier was Bucky. He knows every inch of his features, knows the curve of his cheekbones and the angles of his neck and the arch of his brow. And his eyes. There was a time, a distant past now, where he could spend hours searching for the right combination of blue paints and never find them, because none of them would be perfect.

 

It takes a moment for him to realize those eyes are staring back at him, and he swallows convulsively. He grips Bucky’s hand tighter.

 

“That’s not the only thing that hasn’t changed, you know,” Steve says quietly.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I’m still crazy about you.”

 

Bucky’s eyes go wide and his lips part in surprise, and Steve figures that’s the best time to do what he’s been wanting to do since he discovered Bucky was still alive: kiss him. He leans in, bringing them together with a gentle hand on the side of Bucky’s face, and the sigh that slips through Bucky’s lips when they connect sounds a lot like relief. Like finally coming home after an exceptionally long day.

 

Bucky’s kisses are just as sweet as Steve remembers, and all the sweeter for the simple fact that he gets to have them again after so long without.

 

He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, something in him settling in a way it hasn’t in years. He feels lighter somehow, like floating. Like soaring.

 

Bucky hums quietly, and then says, “If that’s the kind of reward I get for bein’ helpful, I’m gonna have to build at least three more drones.”

 

“Don’t push your luck,” Steve says, laughing.

 

And then he kisses him again. Just because he can.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com/).


End file.
